All I'm gonna get
by QueenBea93
Summary: Dean marries a civilian with a nosy family. Sam is on leave from the cage, running from invisible enemies. Post season 5 AU, outsider POV.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story goes AU after season 5 but will contain spoilers through season 8. Also, though it is a huge spoiler for the story, I feel I should warn you that this will (eventually) contain major character death, but I like to think it has some moments of hope to make up for the angst ;)**

 **General disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the title which comes from Lykke Li's song** ** _Possibility_** **.**

The first time I met the mysterious Sam Winchester was for my wedding. Can you believe that? My husband-to-be's brother and only remaining family, and I didn't even have a face to put to the name until I was already running around trying to get all the flower arrangements out in the right places and trying to communicate to the catering firm that, no, my vegan hippie cousins did _not_ in fact eat fish.

When Dean and I first started dating he hardly ever talked about his brother and I figured they weren't that close. All he told me was that they had been in the family business (Personal Investigators, apparently) together, but after he busted his knee he couldn't continue, and his brother had to anyway. Dean didn't say that Sam didn't _want_ to leave the family business. He said he _couldn't_. That was the kind of commitment to work you just don't see a lot of, and frankly it made me a bit uncomfortable. Maybe they had big-time daddy-related guilt and obligation issues. Based on the few stories Dean told about his father, that seemed a very likely conclusion.

When Dean and I started spending more and more time together I soon realised that the elusive brother played a larger role in his life than I had previously assumed. They spoke on the phone several times a week. Short conversations, usually, and the ones I managed to eavesdrop on by way of my extraordinary stealth only revealed that Dean did most of the talking, and it consisted of exaggerated descriptions of various neighbours and towns-people, exaggerated compliments about my own lucky person, and exaggerated worrying about the man on the other end of the line expressed mostly through semi-aggressive admonishments and insults about the other man's intelligence.

When Dean and I moved in together I caught him lying awake in the middle of the night after one of those conversations, the crease between his eyebrows indicating that the exaggerated worrying continued into the small hours of the morning. Then the same thing happened again. And then another time, and another, until I realised that the enigmatic Samuel probably occupied more of Dean's attention than I did. I asked Dean about it and he said it was just the way things were; he worried about Sam because Sam was his little brother and Sam had a dangerous job and a somewhat destructive personality. End of discussion.

It was early afternoon two days before the wedding, and most of the preparations were done. Which meant there was a moment to relax. Which wasn't all that relaxing, seeing as my parents and my older brother and younger sister were all staying for dinner to 'help', and my family was a bit notorious for… arguments. I liked to think it was the way we showed love, but it didn't really feel like it most of the time.

My parents liked Dean well enough. He was polite and took impeccable care of their car free of charge. My brother liked Dean too, more because he liked classic rock and enjoyed beer. Mark was the office type, so I think he liked the contrast Dean made to his other friends. My sister liked Dean because he's really fucking gorgeous and can charm your socks off with one little smile. As long as they like him, right…

Maybe because they like him, they didn't spare him the entertainment of watching Mother tell Mark it's time for him to find a suitable woman and settle down as well, which made Lily go into a rant about gender stereotypes and maybe Mark didn't want to settle down or maybe he was gay and looking for a suitable man, which made Mark splutter indignantly that he was most certainly not, which made Lily ask him if he was homophobic which made Dad try to redirect the conversation by asking if Lily had made any progress in finding a job, and so on. It was sort of loud. But then there was a lull in the conversation and the deep rumble of a car could be heard from outside, and Dean snapped to attention for the first time since he had zoned out thirty minutes previously.

"Sam's here!" he announced and gestured for me to get off his lap so he could push himself out of the armchair. Sometimes he grumbled that his stiff knee made him feel like he was eighty years old. I told him it made him mysterious (mostly because he wouldn't tell me how it happened) and then he winked at me and seemed to forget all about it.

"How do you know?" I asked, getting to my feet.

"I can hear the car," he said, like it should be obvious, and limped towards the front door. I hesitated only a second before I sat back down, deciding to give the brothers some privacy. To my knowledge they hadn't seen each other at least for the six months I had known Dean (I know what you're thinking. Six months, so quick! But hey! True love and YOLO and all that, right?).

Part of me was itching to find a window so I could spy on them if Dean went outside, but my devious planning proved superfluous as the doorbell rang just as Dean reached it, and he yanked it open revealing a tall, tall, tense, muscular but gaunt-looking man with hair longer than mine, and worn clothing. He didn't look inside the house, just at his brother, drinking in the sight of him like a starved man. Dean had his back to me, but I'm willing to bet he looked the same.

"Dean!" the tall, tall man said after a few seconds, and it was a sigh of relief accompanied by something like a sag forward.

"Sammy!" Dean acknowledged in a thick voice I hadn't heard him use before, not even when he teared up a bit on the evening we got engaged. Then he pulled his brother into a hug and Sam rested his chin on Dean's shoulder, eyes squeezed close, and holding on like Dean was grounding him in the present.

Maybe it was because of the unaccustomed silence in the living room, or the not so discreet way my entire family was regarding the somehow rather heartbreaking scene that was unfolding in front of us, but the hug seemed to go on for minutes before they stepped back from each other. Dean kept a hand on his brother's shoulder as he regarded him.

"Look at you Sammy!" he said, still in that thick voice. "What have you done to yourself, huh? Did it ever occur to you that you might, I don't know, cut your hair, or eat an actual meal, or stop to sleep sometimes?" I realised some of the strange quality of Dean's voice was self-reproach. Was he somehow blaming himself for the fact that his grown brother was mistreating himself?

"I've… uh… been busy," Sam looked suddenly uncomfortable, probably because he caught sight of a family of five staring unabashedly at him, and he pushed a hand through his hair to get it more firmly out of his face.

Dean followed his line of vision, and turned to lead Sam back into the living room, keeping a hand on his upper arm. With a visible effort, Sam's features had relaxed into something more friendly and approachable. It was quite fascinating how he did that, actually.

"This is my brother Sam, and this is Emily, and her family, Richard, Judy, Mark and Lily," Dean gestured as he spoke. Sam's eyes travelled across the new faces, and he nodded politely at each, though a flash of something painful crossed his features as he reached Lily, and he quickly moved on.

"It's very nice to meet you all," he said, and directed the next part at me. "I'm sorry I haven't been by to meet you sooner, but I've heard a lot about you," he gave me a smile. The first one since he'd arrived.

"All good I hope," I joked lamely. There was something strange and distant about him that made me a bit unnerved, but I couldn't put my finger on it. It might have been the way his eyes flickered around the room a bit nervously every few seconds, or the way Dean's squeeze of his arm seemed to bring him back to the present.

"Yep, all good," he confirmed, and his smile widened teasingly as he directed it towards Dean instead, revealing the hints of dimples in his cheeks. Dean scratched the back of his head, looking a bit embarrassed, and gave Sam a shove towards the empty sofa.

"Sit down! I'll get you something to eat," he said.

"It's past lunch time. I'll wait for dinner," Sam assured him, but he followed orders and sat on the couch.

"Oh, and you had lunch, did you? And breakfast?" Dean asked sarcastically, and Sam looked sheepish.

"I'll make you a couple of sandwiches," I hurried to say, thinking it better not to separate the brothers so soon after arrival.

"Thanks," both of them said at once, Dean with a genuine smile, taking a seat next to his brother, and Sam with a forced one, running a hand through his hair again and looking like he'd rather be almost anywhere else, but still orienting himself on the couch so that his knee knocked together with Dean's, clearly seeking out the physical contact.

Our house has an open design, so I could hear the conversation from the living room as I was in the kitchen.

"You gonna let me cut this before you turn into a girl?" Dean said, presumably talking about hair.

"Sure," came the reply. And then there was awkward silence.

"So, Sam, you work as a private investigator?" my father tried. Ever the mediator.

"Yeah, that's right."

"What was your last case?" Lily asked excitedly. She was probably underway with shifting her unrequited crush from my fiancé to his even more mysterious and suitably damaged brother.

"Ah that's… kind of confidential I'm afraid. But it had to do with family lines and heirs. Inheritance related."

Dean found this amusing for some reason, and laughed.

"Slow week?" he asked.

"Sort of. It was just something I did on the way over here. I didn't want to drive straight through from Seattle."

"What's it like living on the road like that?" Lily chirped up again. "It must be exciting!" she was going through something of a delayed (at 22) teenage rebellion at the moment.

"Not… really, I mean… Dean could tell you about it better, I'm sure," Sam replied haltingly, clearly uncomfortable with what he probably didn't realise was a very mild version of the Spanish inquisition my family usually charged new people with.

I returned to the living room with two large sandwiches.

"Thank you," Sam told me, genuinely grateful this time, and finished the first one almost before I had time to sit down in the only empty chair. Dean eyed him critically the whole time he ate, disapproval clear, probably due to the fact that he had allowed himself to get this hungry in the first place.

My mother filled the brief interlude with recommendations on what I should pack for our honeymoon. Thanks mom.

When Sam had swallowed the last bite he actually looked a bit better.

"That was really good!" he said so earnestly he almost made me blush.

Dean interrupted what was sure to be another awkward silence.

"You want me to have a look at Baby while you're here? Tune her up a bit?"

"Why do you even ask me? You're gonna do it anyway." I got a first look at those dimples in all their glory, and noted with amusement that Lily was completely mesmerised with that gooey look that's both cute and disgusting.

"Damn straight I am!" Dean assured with an equally radiant smile. "And you'd better hope you've taken good care of her."

"You probably won't think so, but I've tried. I even took her to Bobby a couple of times to have him look at her. Is Bobby coming by the way?"

"Yeah, he's coming tomorrow. Since you're the best man, he's got his work cut out for him trying to fill up my side of the church all on his own," Dean smirked, but Sam's face suddenly closed off.

"Church?" he asked quietly.

"Let's go look at Baby!" Dean decided abruptly.

Sam nodded and stood up, dragging his brother up as well, and they disappeared out the front door without a backwards glance.

"I'm going to assume 'baby' is a car?" Mark asked, in comical consternation, and we all burst out in giggles, revelling in the relief from the tension.

…

The kitchen had a good view of the driveway where a large black muscle car was parked (the car definitely looked like a man to me, so whoever decided to name it Baby…). That was probably why my entire family flocked to the kitchen when it was suddenly time to cook dinner two hours earlier than usual, really going out of their way to look like they were being useful even though they weren't.

We were spying.

At first Dean was buried under the hood, periodically caressing parts of the car in a somewhat disturbing manner. Sam had his hands buried in his pockets, occasionally looking at something inside the engine when Dean pointed it out to him.

After a while Dean looked over at his brother who seemed lost in thought, leaning against the side of the car. Dean said something and Sam nodded, going to the trunk and pulling out a green cooler which he put on the ground by the front right tire and from which he then produced two beers. Dean closed the hood and they both leaned against it, nursing their beers and occasionally saying something. We had beer in the fridge, so I guessed the whole process had some sort of significance to them.

It wasn't until Lily spoke that I realised we were all looking out the window and nobody was actually keeping up the pretence of cooking anymore.

"Maybe we could crack open the window just a little bit?" she said hopefully, indicating with her fingers just how little of an opening she was asking for. Nothing really. And we were about to cook - sometime in the near future - and ventilation is important. So I cracked the window open just a little bit. Mark gave a small cough, and Lily gestured at him frantically to be silent. Totally casual family cooking. Thank god the street outside was silent too or we wouldn't have heard them no matter how much we strained.

"…understand that Em's religious and, you know…" Dean trailed off with a shrug.

"And you're okay with that?" Sam sounded genuinely surprised.

"It's not like she goes to church every week or anything. If it's what she wants… I just didn't want to make a deal of it. Seemed unnecessary."

Sam snorted.

"How bad is it?" Dean asked, switching back to concern.

"Look… I'll do it if I have to but… I'm here _now_. Maybe I should just take off tonight. You could call Cas or something, he loves churches," Sam tried and failed to go for a lighthearted look.

"Sam-"

"Dean," Sam interrupted, "I don't belong here anyway."

"You could! You could just stay after this, you don't have to leave again," Dean was almost pleading.

"How many times have we had this conversation?" Sam sighed. "I can't! I really, really can't. There's only one thing I can do now, and this," he gestured to the quaint neighbourhood we had found our home in, "is not it. Staying here would literally kill me. You know what I would do if I had a choice, Dean, but I don't!"

"Wish you did Sammy!" Dean looked away.

"Me too," Sam agreed, taking a sip of his beer.

This was no doubt the strangest conversation I had ever heard, and I didn't understand half of it. A shared look with the rest of my family indicated that they were equally confused.

The brothers passed a few minutes in companionable silence. They were so… comfortable around each other. Dean had none of that admittedly rather charming attitude he usually put on around people. We started up with our various tasks until Lily-the-lookout shushed us again.

"… wrong without you there," Dean said. "This is already so backwards, just… the ceremony is only, like, 30 minutes long," it seemed he wouldn't say please, wouldn't beg, but the look in his eyes made any such words unnecessary.

"Fine," Sam acquiesced, and then he changed gears completely. "And tomorrow's your bachelor party. Last night of freedom. What can we do to make it stand out from basically every Friday and Saturday night of your entire adult life until you moved here?"

"Ah, don't be a little bitch!" Dean shoved his shoulder. "Usually planning the bachelor party falls on the best man but since your idea of a good time would probably have us drinking tea in a library I took the liberty of doing it myself."

"Jerk!" Sam laughed, the heavy atmosphere of the previous minute forgotten.

I tried unsuccessfully to picture Dean's buff and somewhat dangerous-looking PI brother spending any sort of significant time in a library. I guess looks can be deceiving.

…

The brothers stayed outside until I called them in for dinner. Sam, while polite, didn't seem too bothered about social etiquette and preferred to remain close to Dean without outside interference. Dean seemed to prefer that as well.

We sat down to eat and Mark broke the awkward silence.

"You've got a really sweet ride!"

Sam looked uncomfortable more than pleased.

"She's not mine, she's Dean's," he replied dismissively, taking a large bite of salad.

"Oh."

"She belongs on the road," Dean clarified, seeming to want to leave the topic as well. Lily was never one to take a hint.

"Why's that?" she asked, looking at the brothers in dreamy fascination.

Dean was looking quite fidgety to be honest, and I wasn't used to seeing him like that.

"She's always been. On the road, I mean. We grew up in her more or less."

"In a car?" Lily blurted out, looking confused. I was a bit confused as well actually. This was the first I ever heard of it.

"Well… you know… we moved around a lot and she was the stable point," Dean shrugged dismissively and demonstratively took an enormous bite of the chicken. Sam looked at him thoughtfully, and then asked me about the wedding, effectively setting off a tirade that kept me (with some help from mother and Lily) going for the rest of the meal.

…

I retired as soon as my family left, but Sam and Dean stayed awake. I went to check on them after a while. They weren't talking, which was strange as they (Dean…) had no trouble keeping up a conversation on the phone for at least a few minutes every day. But now they were in the same room and they just sat on the couch holding a beer each, staring at the turned-off television silently.

I would use the expression 'companionable silence', but it wasn't really. They didn't _look_ uncomfortable, but the atmosphere was still tense. They both looked like they had a million things they wanted the other to know, but the last thing they wanted was to say it out loud. I suppose if you combine Dean's horrible communication skills with someone who has equally horrible communication skills that's what you get.

I left them to it… whatever it was, and went to bed. I didn't notice when Dean lay down next to me, but I did notice when a piercing scream snapped us both awake. Dean was out of bed, down the hallway and into the guest room in two seconds flat. I had enough trouble trying to slow my heart rate down to something manageable, and then internally debating whether or not I should go and check on them. I had yet to reach a decision when Dean came back into our bedroom, tiredly rubbing a hand over his face.

"He okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine. Just a nightmare."

"Dean, your nightmares are not just nightmares, and that was… worse."

He looked at me wryly, like he was trying to decide on something. Then he kissed me and pulled my back to his chest.

"He's fine, Em. Go back to sleep."

…

I came downstairs the following morning to a heated argument.

"… the fuck do you mean? You're just taking off?" Dean all but yelled.

"Just for today, I'll be back tonight," Sam replied, more exhausted than patient.

"You can't even stick around for two goddamn days Sam?"

"Don't give me that, Dean. Do you know how hard I had to plead my case just to come here for two whole nights?"

Plead his case? To whom? A boss? Dean had said it was a family business. I suddenly got this horrible idea that my soon-to-be husband was a part of the mob.

"Plead your… you bargained with them? You're a moron, why would you do that?"

"Uh… because you're getting married and I wanted to be here?" Sam deadpanned. "Look, it's not like it's gonna get worse than before when I get back there anyway."

"Sammy…" Dean's voice was painfully pleading all of a sudden.

"It's okay Dean. I'll be back tonight, I promise."

The door closed with a quiet click, and a few seconds later the sound of the creatively christened 'Baby' flared up. Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, head buried in his hands, not looking quite as excited as I would have hoped he would be on the day before we got married. He wouldn't tell me what the problem was, just that Sam had to do something during the day.

To be honest, I didn't really care all that much. I was going to spend the night at my parents' (groom can't see the bride and all that) and then the following morning getting ready with the girls, and it was my wedding, and trying to figure out what Dean's messed up brother's deal and their messed up relationship was about could just wait until another day when I was not getting married.

In retrospect, it might have been a good idea to take a more proactive stance. Drag them to a therapist or an exorcist or something. Hell if I know. It probably wouldn't have made a difference.

…

If this story was about me I would fill numerous pages with vivid descriptions of all the events of the following day and the exact design of my dress and the words in our vows and the decor in the reception hall. I'm sure you're just bursting to hear about it too, but it'll have to wait for another time.

Honestly, I didn't pay attention to Sam during the ceremony. Sue me, it was my day. It was only when we were walking out of the church that I noticed he was looking supremely uncomfortable. Like, someone-put-itching-powder-in-his-underwear uncomfortable. And when he congratulated us Dean looked at him earnestly and Sam gave a small nod in return; an assurance that he was okay.

Bobby Singer was an odd man. He teared up a little when he shook my hand and gave Dean a hug and during the reception he and Sam kept to themselves, speaking in low tones, occasionally joined by Dean who thankfully understood the groom's duty to mingle with the guests.

I put the Winchester entourage out of my mind again until Sam gave his best man speech. The speech was almost rudely short and awkward and would have been stupidly generic if the brothers and their uncle hadn't looked so terribly serious.

"Dean, you have sacrificed so much. If anybody deserves happiness, it's you. You have new joys and new responsibilities now; embrace them! I wish you both the brightest of futures together. To Dean and Emily."

"To Dean and Emily," the party chorused while a look of pained understanding passed between the brothers, and Dean's fingers dug harshly into Sam's shoulder when he clapped him on the back.

After the dinner there was dancing, which Dean did both badly and reluctantly and Sam did not at all. Lily pestered him about it once or twice, and then another few times when she'd had a couple of drinks, but he turned her down with increasing firmness and did not invite conversation either. Eventually Dean actually went up to her and asked her to leave his brother alone. In a nice way to be sure, but still…

Mark also made a valiant effort to involve Sam in the celebration, but they both looked so awkward sitting next to each other in their fancy suits looking down at their own hands that it almost cracked me up. Mark told me later that Sam had seemed completely distraught and hardly heard what he said, let alone replied, and he had gladly fled the scene when Bobby Singer turned up with an entire bottle of whisky and two glasses.

Well before it was socially acceptable, Sam came up to Dean and I where we were talking to some of my friends and announced that he was leaving. Dean looked at him for a second and then said "okay" without protest. I certainly didn't mind very much, and the guy was looking more twitchy by the second, his eyes drifting. I started wondering if maybe he was a junkie or something.

"It was great to meet you Emily," he forced out with an equally forced smile to which I responded with a forced smile of my own, and Dean followed him outside to say his goodbyes.

I asked Dean later about Sam's odd behaviour but it made him irrationally defensive, especially my careful inquiry about drug-use, so I decided to accept the situation. Not like the guy was going to figure too prominently in my life I reasoned. That's what I thought at the time anyway.

 **A/N: Thank you for reading :) Please leave a review if you have a minute. I'd love to hear what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

We had been married for a few months when I saw a whole new side to my husband, and it wasn't one I particularly liked. Sure, he enjoyed having a few beers with his colleagues from the garage, or with Mark, whom he had become pretty good friends with, but I had never known him to drink too much.

Then came November 2nd. A very inconspicuous day in the almanac, but one I quickly learned I would need to look out for in the future. Dean had been testy all day, but still went to the bar with Mark and a few others in the evening like he usually did on Thursdays. A few hours later my brother called me and asked me to come get Dean because he'd had way too much and was starting to become incoherent. As it turned out, he wasn't incoherent so much as uncensored, and only Sam Winchester held the knowledge to be able to understand Dean Winchester uncensored. And probably vice versa.

I pulled up in the parking lot of the bar at the same time as what I had been told was a '67 Chevy Impala. We had extended an invitation for Sam to come and stay several times (all of which he had declined) but to my knowledge not at the moment.

Sam either didn't see me, or ignored me, as he pushed open the door to the bar. I followed on his heels and by the time he had located his brother, sitting next to mine at the end of the bar, I was standing right beside him. I made to approach, but he stopped me with a hand on the arm. No greeting, no nothing. He was just there.

"Would you let me handle this?"

"I suppose, I just… what the hell is he doing?" I was concerned, sure, but a healthy dose of irritation was leaking through at the sight of my husband making a drunken fool of himself in the middle of a bar full of people we saw almost every day.

"Don't judge him, please, this isn't him," Sam said earnestly, asking forgiveness on behalf of his brother and looking at him with a myriad of emotions warring in his eyes. "This is a… bad date for us. You might want to mark it out cause this is gonna happen every year."

He didn't say anything else, just walked up to the bar and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. Mark noticed me and came as I waved him over to a nearby table where we could wait out whatever intervention was about to happen. I wasn't sure if I would be needed to be the designated driver once it was over.

"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed once he managed to make his eyes follow the hand on his shoulder up the arm and further up into the face the arm belonged to. "What'cha doing here?" he pushed his brother down on the barstool Mark had vacated and waved over the bartender.

"Looking out for your sorry ass," came the reply, as Sam waved the bartender away again with an apologetic shake of the head. The bartender looked grateful someone was dealing with a problem waiting to happen, and quickly turned away.

"Don't be stupid, that's my job, lookin' out for you. You should be drunk too. You got way more reason to be drunk than I do. Why aren't you drunk?"

"Because I knew you would be. And drinking your problems away has always been yours and Dad's way to deal. Last time I tried it I got carried away and started talking about the apocalypse and telling people I had the devil in my head telling me to do things, and kept doing that until I passed out. Then I woke up in the psychiatric ward of the hospital and had to break out, and change the car registration since they had it tracked."

Dean's surprise only lasted a split second before he burst out laughing. I had the awful suspicion that Sam was not making the story up.

"Classic!" Dean choked out when he could breathe again.

"Maybe," Sam shrugged, "but the thing is that you live in this town, Dean, and you can't just take off when you screw up."

That sobered Dean up a little bit.

"Huh, that's new," he observed.

"Yeah."

"Hey, remember when we were fighting the whore of Babylon and Cas was convinced the world was really going to end and he drank that whole liquor store and tried to make jokes with Enochian puns?" Dean was smiling again.

I could only assume he was speaking in obscure metaphors and gross exaggerations, but Sam apparently knew exactly what he was talking about and actually cracked a smile himself.

"If we hadn't been about to die literally all the time at that point it would have been more entertaining," he chuckled.

Dean's mood turned again and he sighed, turning to look his brother square in the face.

"This should be you, Sam!"

"What? Drunk out of my mind?"

"No, jackass. This life. You should be married to Jess, working as a lawyer, and have two blond rugrats hanging around by now."

"Dean-"

"No, Sammy, it's not fair. Normal is all you ever wanted and I never let you have it cause I never wanted it and now I have it and you… just stay here Sam, you can have a future. Em's sister has the hots for you. I know you don't like her but she's actually-"

"Dean, stop! I've told you a million times. I. can't! You know that. And I don't dislike Lily you idiot. She reminds me of Jess. And when I see her, I think about Jess and Jess' laugh, and her stupid jokes and how she never knew when to shut up and the way her hair smelled and her cinnamon cookies and the way she looked at me when she was burning to death and I couldn't save her."

"Shit. I… I didn't know."

"Well, now you do. Let's go."

Sam heaved his drunken brother up from the bar-stool and let him lean on him since he was limping worse than usual with all the alcohol in his system.

"We going home?" Dean asked, distraught by Sam's confession.

"No. You're sleeping this off at a motel. I'm sure you don't want your wife to see you like this," Sam replied, sending me a meaningful look as they passed, trusting - correctly - that Dean wouldn't realise I was there.

"Yeah, you're right. Em's awesome, she doesn't deserve this. She puts up with a lot of shit for me, you know. You should have seen the trouble we had getting a loan for our house when I didn't have any credit rating."

"Credit… credit rating!?" Sam stopped and looked at his brother incredulously and then burst out laughing. "Man, you really are domesticated."

When they were out the door Mark turned to me with wide eyes.

"Em… your husband is either insane or seriously messed up! Maybe both."

"I know," I agreed. Because I did know. It wasn't always obvious to outsiders but when you live with someone… he had some weird habits to be sure, and said things in his sleep that I didn't even dare mention in the morning. And he thought I didn't know about the duffel full of weapons he kept in an inconspicuous cardboard box in the back of the garage, but it was something I was uncomfortably and continuously aware of. "But Sam's worse," I observed, seriously considering getting a drink myself.

"Yeah!" Mark snorted. "That guy gives me the creeps. And he just shows up out of nowhere like that, and Dean isn't even surprised. I mean, they hardly ever see each other."

"They talk on the phone almost every day," I revealed tiredly. I often felt like I had an absent rival in my relationship with my husband, but it had been like that from the beginning, so I shouldn't have been surprised. "They have a really… complicated relationship. Dean once told me he pretty much raised Sam."

Mark raised his eyebrows. "But he's only, like, four years older than him isn't he?"

"Yeah. Like you said, it's messed up."

Dean returned home the next morning, apologetic to an extreme, and explained why November 2nd was a bad day for Winchesters. Sam had already left town.

I wanted to bring up some of the things I had overheard the previous night but, seriously, how on earth do you introduce such topics?

 **A/N: Thank you for reading! I have most of this story finished, 7 chapters in total, so I'll try to post fairly regularly. Please leave me a little review if you have the chance :)**


	3. Chapter 3

We didn't see Sam again for over six months, though Dean still spoke to him religiously over the phone, if anything even more often than before. Then one day he was standing at the door, bleeding and half-conscious. We were having my whole family over for dinner. Again. It was becoming an almost too-common occurrence. But we ate at their place once a week as well. It was nice, though I know the constant company sometimes made Dean uncomfortable.

As usual the dinner conversation was… loud, so we got no warning about the impending visit until the doorbell rang. I was expecting it to be Mrs. Sanders from next door who always chose the least suitable times for her impromptu visits, but my guess couldn't have been further from the mark.

"Sam!" I gasped, taking in the pale figure before me whom I had only met on two occasions previously. "Are you okay?" stupid question. "Holy… is that blood?" his shirt was stained rusty beneath the fingers of his left hand, where his right pressed it close against his abdomen.

"Hi Emily. Dean… Is Dean in?"

"Dean!" I all but screamed in the direction of the kitchen, unable to take my eyes off the man in my doorway, who might be dying for all I knew.

Dean came hobbling as fast as he could (followed by everyone else because, to be fair, I had probably sounded like I was the one dying), but he paused as he took in the visitor and seemed not quite panicked enough by the state he was in.

"Shit Sam! What happened?" he made his way quickly to his brother's side and draped Sam's right arm over his own shoulder, guiding him to the couch.

"I just… I need you to fix me… no Dean I'll get blood on your sofa!" he suddenly protested when he realised where they were headed.

"Shut up! Em, could you get me some towels please?" I was on the verge of hyperventilating, and the rest of my family were more or less incapacitated as well, so I just managed to squeak out something to the affirmative and dash to the hallway closet, pulling out a whole bunch of towels and spreading some of them out so Dean could lower Sam down to a sitting position.

"What's the damage?" Dean asked. His worry and concern were buried firmly behind a mask of efficiency, and he sat down next to his brother, his knee not allowing him to crouch as he had tried to do at first.

"Shoulder dislocated. Stomach cut… needs stitches. Concussion," Sam's breathing was more even now than when he had stood up. I made the assumption that he finally allowed himself to relax when he reached the protection of his brother.

"You drove like this?" Dean asked incredulously as he carefully peeled off Sam's jacket, and the extent of the blood that stained his torso became visible.

"Not very far."

"You're an idiot! You could have called. Bet you got blood on the upholstery."

"I did."

"Bitch."

"Relax Dean, it's okay," Sam tried to sound reassuring, clearly referring to something other than the car-seats. He was well-versed in interpreting the true meaning of Dean-speak, probably more so than I could ever hope to be.

"It damn well isn't Sam!"

My mother had finally gathered her wits about herself again, and choked out; "We need to take him to a hospital."

"No, he'll be fine. But if someone could get the first aid kit from the Impala that would be great. It's in the trunk.

I nodded silently and rushed out. The Impala was parked crookedly along the curb, and I found the trunk unlocked. I picked up a disturbingly large bag containing medical supplies and was about to close the trunk again when I saw that it was fitted with a false bottom. Despite the situation, curiosity got the better of me, and I lifted the edge up slightly. Then I wished I hadn't. There was an arsenal back there. And not an assassin or secret agent, or even terrorist style arsenal, but a really really weird one. Some of the weapons were similar to the ones Dean had 'hid' in the garage, and some were even more… original.

I slammed the trunk shut with more force than necessary. Personal investigators my sweet behind!

I came back into the house just in time to witness Dean pop Sam's shoulder back into its socket with a noise that made Lily pale so much she had to sit down. I put the extensive med-kit next to Dean and found my little excursion outside had made me more calm and collected despite my discovery.

"Do you need anything else?" I asked.

"Some warm water would be really good, thanks Em," Dean replied, turning to look at me with gratitude, and a plea for me to understand. Which was a little ridiculous, because this was something I would obviously never be able to understand unless plenty more explanation was provided. But that was a later problem, so I nodded a bit tightly and got what was asked for. As I came back, Dean was peeling off Sam's final shirt layer (seriously, how many was he wearing?) and Lily's pallor was offset nicely with a fierce blush at the abs that were unearthed. Abs and a nasty gash along his side which started to bleed again as the fabric of the t-shirt stuck in the dried mess pulled away.

"Maybe we should… we should really take him to the hospital," I tried to sound assertive.

"Don't worry Emily. Dean knows what he's doing," Sam somehow managed to sound much more assertive than I even though he was concussed out of his mind and looked like he was about to lose consciousness any second.

"Keep your eyes open Sammy! Eyes on me," Dean commanded, and pulled out various things from the bag I had brought. Lily realised what he was going to do before anyone else did.

"Oh my God! Are you going to stitch him yourself!?" she squeaked, seemingly undecided between horror and fascination. Dean was a mechanic… not exactly a profession that required extensive knowledge of medical procedures. Or so I had assumed.

"Dean's really good at stitches," Sam slurred, and Dean looked up from his work in concern.

"Dude, did you take something?" he asked.

"Yeah. One of those… in the bag… with the green package. Cause I had to drive, you know, for like, an hour, and it kinda hurt a little with the shoulder."

 _Kinda_ hurt. A _little_. Okay then.

"You took one of those, and then you drove? Wow! Can't believe you got into college, 'cause that's… really dumb!" Dean shook his head, but just continued his task. "Did you finish… what you were doing?"

"Yeah, yeah… all done, all gone, no problemo."

"Sure," Dean snorted. "You sound like Ash."

"Ash's all gone too," Sam observed with a frown. Dean had never talked to me about anybody from his past save his father, and a brief mention of his mother once when we were getting to know each other. It made me uneasy that he had lived a whole life, over thirty years, full of people and events which he was so reticent to share it sometimes felt like the man he was now, the man I knew, had sprouted out of the ground as he was a few years ago. Only his brother reminded me that wasn't the case.

"I know Sammy," Dean barely looked up. After a moment of silence, he added "Keep talking so I know you're not passing out on me yet. Don't think that would be such a good idea with that pill and the concussion."

"Mmhm, what d'you wanna know. Did I tell you 'bout Garth? Don' think I did. Bobby hooked me up with'm for a case few weeks back 'cause he needed backup. He was such a funny guy," Sam actually giggled, and Dean glanced up from his task.

"Dude, you really can't handle the hard drugs."

"I know, you always say. Anyway what was I sayin'? Oh yeah, Garth. Right, so he's like really scrawny, used t'be a dentist 'til he killed the tooth fairy, c'n you believe that? Reads comics on the job. He was fuckin' happy, man! Like… not bitter. Weird guy, I'm tellin' you."

I could only assume Sam was so out of it from pain and drugs that he was half-dreaming. And I was beginning to really agree with Dean; it was a miracle that Sam hadn't driven right off the road on the way here. He also seemed significantly less coherent now than when he had first arrived…

"Maybe backup isn't such a bad idea," Dean started to wipe the neat row of stitches with an antiseptic solution, not reacting to the crazy parts of the story. "You could work together."

"Nah, I couldn't do that. I mean, I _can't_ can't, you know, but I could never work with anybody but you anyway, that's just wrong. Not even Bobby. 'Sides, I'd probably leave Garth at the roadside for bein' too chirpy."

Dean didn't reply, he just taped some gauze over the wound and heaved himself to standing, attempting to pull Sam up as well.

"Come on Sammy, you'll stay the weekend here, let's go to the guest room," with a grunt he succeeded in his efforts, managed to get his giant brother to his feet, and started leading him slowly down the hallway.

"I gotta leave tomorrow."

"Like hell you do. That wasn't a request Sam, that was an order."

Sam giggled again. "You sound like Dad," he said, and continued in a much darker voice "'That's an order Sam!' 'Don't talk back to me Sam!' 'If you don't do better you're gonna get your brother killed Sam!'"

"Dad actually told you that?" Dean asked, horrified, pausing for a second. But then Sam's reply was lost as they rounded the corner.

…

Dean came back only a few minutes later and apologised about the interruption, but offered no explanation about what had happened to his brother. My family left, somewhat shellshocked, and Dean and I retreated to the kitchen to clean up.

"Dean?" I asked him after a few silent minutes, slowly drying a plate with a damp dishtowel.

"Hmm yeah?" he looked up distractedly from the oily dishwater, forehead creased in contemplation about things unknown and residing in the guest room.

"What's going on?" I wasn't even sure I really wanted to know, but it wasn't like I could just not ask.

"Would you trust me if I told you it's really better for you not to know?" he looked at me seriously.

"Yeah, I can believe that," I sighed, my mind flitting through various scenarios which might have caused Sam's injuries and the brothers' oddities in general. "But… I need to know that… that whatever it is… you won't bring it here, to this house."

"Em," he wiped his hands and turned to me, grabbing my shoulders tenderly, and I knew he was really, really sincere about this because charming though he was, he normally shunned touchy-feely moments like the plague. "I promise you that my past and what Sam… does… I will never let it harm you or your family. You understand?"

"Good," I nodded and looked down at the rhythmical movements I was making with the towel over the dry plate, "because… I'm pregnant."

He was silent so long that I looked up and caught his shocked expression before he could arrange it.

"I know you've said you don't want children but…" I shrugged and looked away again. "It's happened and I want it.

I was almost afraid to see what his reaction would be. I loved Dean but there was no way I couldn't have this child now I had realised how much I wanted it. He sighed.

"You're right I never wanted children, but I want it too," he said and hugged me.

…

Sam and the car were gone before I woke up the next morning. Dean had made me pancakes, looked like he hadn't slept at all, and drank beer for breakfast.

 **A/N: As always, thank you for reading and special thanks to those who have reviewed. Next chapter will probably be up tomorrow. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Sam arrived at our house midday on Christmas eve and he was due to stay until Boxing day. I wasn't sure how I felt about it. Last Christmas we'd had all to ourselves, and this year we had Jo whom Sam hadn't even come to meet yet though she was nearly three months old already. And seriously, what was this man doing during the holidays? Surely nobody hired 'personal investigators' during the week between Christmas and New Years? I said as much to Dean, asking if Sam spent the holidays with his girl or something. He said no. Then I got a bit grumbly about how Sam couldn't put family first for once, knowing how much it would mean to Dean if he actually stayed a while longer, but Dean came down firmly on Sam's side and refused to discuss it at all after that.

But turn up he did. In that car which might as well be single-handedly responsible for global warming (I'm not allowed to say that out loud in my own house, but I can think it, okay?).

Sam was gaunt and twitchy, clearly on edge, but he smiled brightly at his brother and politely at me, and looked at me for permission before taking Jo from Dean's arms. I actually had to try pretty hard not to let my reluctance at him taking her show. I mean, this man was clearly unstable, and led a violent life and… stuff.

I needn't have worried. His entire demeanour changed when he was holding her. He almost relaxed the way I had seen him do when he was alone with Dean. Not quite, but almost.

…

Sam and Dean took a drive after lunch and didn't return until we should have already left the house. Even then they remained in the car, Sam's head buried in his hands and Dean's brow furrowed and turned towards his brother, lips moving and hands clenched on the steering wheel. When he caught the movement of me opening the door from the corner of his eye, they both got out of the car, pasted on smiles, and pretended like nothing had happened.

Christmas eve dinner was at my parents'. Sam said he should stay behind, that he was fine. Dean said he'd stay with him. I told Dean he was coming or so help me God. Dean reluctantly agreed, but Sam insisted on staying. My Mother and Lily threw a fit that Sam was alone in the house on Christmas eve, and Lily went back to our house and came back dragging a shell-shocked Sam who was still pleading his case for spending the evening alone when Lily unceremoniously pushed him down on a chair at the dining-room table. Ah, the joys of living in the same neighbourhood as your family. And ah, the joys of having a sister entirely unable to read the atmosphere in a room.

Because the atmosphere grew decidedly more tense with the addition of a near-stranger who was definitely not one for contributing much to the conversation. But, it lightened up after a while. Dean coaxed Sam into drinking some eggnog. And then some more, and suddenly Sam turned into a rather pleasant and much more socially adjusted human being than Dean. I was actually very surprised. But, all good things must come to an end.

"So Sam," Lily started as we were sitting by the Christmas tree after dinner. "Last year Dean told us you guys don't really have any Christmas traditions, but that can't be true right?"

"Uh well… Dean usually made sure we had some kind of tree or… something," the brothers looked at each other like they were sharing an inside joke, "but, not really, no."

"But, like, turkey and stuff, you had that, right?"

"Uhm…" both Sam and Dean looked more uncomfortable by the minute. "We weren't really… very skilled cooks. My college girlfriend made a mean Christmas dinner though," Sam smiled nostalgically.

Lily looked a little put out at this information; apparently learning about Sam's romantic involvements was not to her taste.

"She baked these amazing sugar cookies pretty much every day through the whole of December," Sam's eyes were locked on the tree but he was seeing something nobody else could.

"If you get the recipe from her we can make some tomorrow," my mother offered indulgently. Something about Sam made both her and Lily want to mother him to death. Me… not so much. I just wanted Dean to tell me what the hell was going on with his messed up family.

"No, that's fine," Sam snapped out of his reverie and smiled politely. "It's just a nice memory."

"I insist. We have to keep the traditions we can right? I'm sure she won't mind giving you the recipe."

I made the connection with the story I had overheard at the bar just a second too late. Just a half-second before Sam said;

"I'm afraid that wouldn't work. She passed away."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay, it was a long time ago," Sam looked back at the tree.

"Where did you go to college?" Mark asked after a pause, in an effort to change tracks.

"Hmm?" Sam looked up again, startled at the interruption to his thought process.

"Stanford," Dean replied in his stead. "Pre-law. Got a full ride."

It was obvious he was proud of his brother.

"Wow!" Lily was mesmerised again. As if this man could _get_ anymore perfect in her eyes…

"Where did you go to law-school?"

"Oh, I didn't. I dropped out before I finished at Stanford."

If anybody had been paying attention to Dean they would have seen that they were treading into dangerous territory. Sam had apparently had a little too much eggnog.

"Why?"

"Because Jess died and Dad went missing and the…" Sam looked up when Dean punched him in the arm, "…stuff," he finished lamely, rubbing at the sore spot but not looking irritated at being interrupted.

…

I left Sam and Dean downstairs with Jo that evening figuring that if they were going to be up late they could simultaneously change the occasional diaper. Of course, my joy at peaceful sleep only lasted a few hours until I woke up with the insatiable need to check on my baby. Damn motherhood and its stupid sleep-defying instincts!

From the doorway to the living room I saw Dean asleep on the couch, and Sam pacing back and forth with a mildly unhappy but very sleepy baby. He clearly adored his niece and it made me warm up a little towards him. I also took the opportunity to listen in to his nightly musings:

"So Jo. How're you doing? You're a really nice baby, aren't you? Nice and quiet. If you grow up to be anything like the Jo you're named after you're gonna be a real spitfire. Keep your parents busy, huh? The other Jo sure did. Saved your dad's life once, right before she died. She didn't listen to her mom. You have to do that though, okay? Listen to your parents! Your mom, she's really nice and your dad… he's the best dad ever. I would know, you know, he was my dad too when I was little. He's gonna teach you all the important things in life like walking and reading and field-stripping a gun in under two minutes. So you be good for him, yeah, and take care of him when I'm not here anymore. 'Cause I have to go soon you see, but that's alright, as long as you keep an eye on your dad for me, okay?"

Sam stopped walking and looked at my little girl whose innocent baby eyes were attentive and serious in her face. Then she yawned wide and Sam smiled adoringly as he laid her back against his shoulder and continued his pacing, picking up his train of thought.

"And no hunting for you, young lady, you hear me? That's important. Maybe I should write that down for Dean so he doesn't forget, hm? Part of my will or something," Sam mused in all seriousness.

Of all the times I had eavesdropped on this man, this was by far the most disconcerting. I hadn't even been aware there was a sentimental reason Dean had nicknamed our baby Jo, which made me a bit uneasy. I also wasn't sure whether or not I ought to bring up Sam's morbid death-talk either with himself or Dean, but somehow I doubted it would phase either of them.

Sam left after breakfast the following morning instead of staying as planned, and the jealousy churning in my gut only allowed me thirty minutes before I broached the subject of the previous night with my husband.

"Why do you call Josephine Jo?"

"Huh?"

"Why Jo and not Josie or… something else?"

"Why not?" Dean seemed surprised. I wasn't really one to bring up random topics of discussion most of the time, and I suppose my tone was a bit conflict-seeking.

"It's just, I overheard Sam talking when he was getting the baby to sleep last night, I think you'd fallen asleep on the couch already, and he was talking about a Jo who was apparently a spitfire and saved your life right before she died, and never listened to her mother."

"Were you eavesdropping?" Dean rarely got angry, but there was something dark in his tone now. If only he knew…

"Yes," I admitted. "Who was she? An ex?"

"What? No!" he seemed honest. "She wished," he added with a small smile. Then he sighed and looked me square in the eye. "She was a friend. She and her mother they… were good people. Almost like family to us and they… they both died to save us. Jo… she was younger than Sam, only 24, and so full of life, so rebellious. She didn't deserve that. It was my fault. Mine and Sam's."

"How so?"

"Look Em, I… can't tell you that, it's part of the past, it's not important." Always so evasive. My anger flared up again.

"That's bullshit Dean, and you know it! I put up with a lot of weird things from you with no explanation. Those sigils you draw under the carpets? The weapons in the garage you think I don't know about? That time I came back from a business trip and there was salt pretty much everywhere? Not to speak of the time your brother shows up on our doorstep bleeding out, with an arsenal in the trunk of the car! I never ask. But all this is clearly very very important!"

"Emily, please!" Dean looked beyond exhausted as he sank into a chair at the kitchen table. "It's not that I don't trust you with this stuff, it's that I don't _want_ you to know because I want to protect you."

"From what? Does it have to do with what Sam said to Jo about her not being allowed to hunt, whatever that means? I'm assuming he wasn't talking about deer. Is that what you were doing before? The reason Sam seems to think he's going to die soon?"

"I am not letting him die!" Dean said, determination leaking back into his features. "We'll figure something out," he continued, mostly to himself.

"Is he sick?" I felt obliged to ask. Not that I wasn't concerned, it's just that this whole situation was way more than I could deal with.

"No. No, he isn't. Em, if you need to know I'll tell you. And you probably will need to know I just… I wish you didn't, you know? So can we leave it? Just for another little while? Please?"

Jo… no Josephine, or Josie, or something else - I wasn't going to call my daughter after some heroically self-sacrificing friend of my husband's whom he hadn't deemed me worthy to know about - chose that moment to start crying and I left the kitchen, wondering for the first time if making Dean a permanent fixture in my life had been a good idea after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Things were a bit tense between Dean and I after our argument. I didn't bring up what he had said, opting to let him come to me when he was ready, but that didn't mean I didn't make it _very_ clear to him what I thought about his continuing choice to keep me in the dark.

In the end, it wasn't him that made the decision, and I guess he was never going to, because he knew the 'right' time would come sooner or later of its own accord.

As it happened, that time turned out to be in the middle of a lazy Sunday breakfast only a few weeks after Christmas. I was simultaneously burping Jo - I may have overreacted, her name remains Jo - and eating toast and Dean was sipping his coffee over the sports section of the paper when there was a strange fluttering like that of wings and Dean almost spilled his coffee as he caught sight of something just over my shoulder.

"Christ Cas! Give me a heart-attack why don't you?" he exclaimed, but otherwise seemed unperturbed by the sudden appearance of a strange man in a trench coat in the middle of our kitchen. I, on the other hand, was greatly perturbed, and may have shrieked rather loudly and nearly tripped on a chair-leg as I retreated to the opposite end of the room.

"Sorry Dean," the man said in a surprisingly deep voice, and then he cocked his head to the side and looked at me as I tried to shield my child even though I didn't know what from, exactly. "Your wife seems perplexed at my appearance," he observed.

"Em, it's okay. This is Cas, he's a… I would say friend, but you've been gone for a really fucking long time, dude! I called for you at least a million times!" Dean exclaimed, suddenly angry.

"I know Dean, and I am sorry. I have been busy, and I lost track of time."

"You… for two years?" Dean sputtered incredulously.

"Yes," the man - Cas - replied seriously. "Time moves differently in heaven."

"Excuse me!" I managed to press out when I finally found my voice. "You just… out of nowhere and… heaven and… what!?"

"I am an angel of the Lord," Cas said, as though that explained anything at all.

"Right!" that was the last straw. "You're crazy!" I announced, pointing at Cas with the hand that wasn't gripping a slightly whimpering Jo to my chest like a security blanket. "And you're crazy!" I pointed at Dean. "And your brother is crazy, and all of this is crazy!" I gestured wildly with my arm to indicate everything. All the crazy all around.

It turns out it wasn't all that crazy. I mean, it was completely crazy, but it was true. Castiel, an angel of the Lord, demonstrated 'a minor miracle' and I learned that Sam, and previously Dean, hunted supernatural beings. Monsters. Things that shouldn't exist. Sam had gone to hell to save the world from the apocalypse and he was still bound to it. The archangels Michael and Lucifer had sent him to earth for a while as part of their torture. He had to keep moving, keep hunting, never staying too long in one place. He had to keep going or it would kill him and he would be right back in hell. He had to keep going with more and more intensity _until_ it killed him, and he would be right back in hell anyway. And he had to do it alone; no trying to find a way to get out of his plight, for him or anybody else. The angels would know and Sam would suffer doubly. It made no sense, even Dean said so, and it seemed he was very well versed in the crazy, but Sam insisted, and Cas corroborated that such a thing would be in the power of two archangels to achieve together even if they were locked in a cage in hell. It was a sophisticated kind of psychological torture designed to drive Sam into a frenzy, giving him false hope, while he knew he was doomed. Funnily enough they managed to torture Dean with this method as well, just as a bonus. Turns out Winchesters aren't very popular among angels, Castiel excluded.

"So why are you here now?" Dean asked Cas when I had been throughly updated, and was sitting gaping and trying to process the new information and wondering if maybe _I_ had gone crazy and this was some sort of hallucination.

"Because there was a rumour in heaven, and the rumour has proven true. Sam is undertaking the trials to close the Gates of Hell forever."

"He's what now?" Dean's reaction told me this isn't exactly run-of-the-mill stuff even in crazy-ville.

"He's attempting to close the Gates of Hell," the angel repeated. "He has only performed the first trial, bathing in the blood of a hell-hound, but it is… altering his physical state. I fear, if he manages to complete the trials, it will kill him. I thought you would want to know, and I don't think Sam will be very forthcoming with this information."

"You're probably right," Dean agreed in exasperation. "But you can fix him right?"

"No. His body is affected on a sub-atomic level. Even I can't set that right."

But Castiel fixed Dean's knee, just like that, before he vanished with another flutter of invisible wings.

Dean's phone-conversation that evening was long and heated, but just hushed enough that I couldn't make out what he was saying.

He apologised to me when he came to bed that evening. For not telling me earlier, and for telling me at all. I forgave him both.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Short chapter today, I know, but it did explain a few things. Please leave a review if you have the chance :)**


	6. Chapter 6

Winter turned to spring, and in early April Dean announced that Sam would be arriving to visit in a couple of days. It was just over three months since he'd been there for Christmas and the shortest he'd gone between visits before was six. He'd never come voluntarily, or just because.

"What's the occasion?" I asked. Maybe it was Sam's birthday or something, I didn't know when that was.

"None," Dean replied in a tight voice. "He… doesn't sound good."

Since Castiel's visit, Dean and I were back on track, as it were. Better even, despite his increased worry about the absent brother, because the previously unexplained eccentricities suddenly made sense, and he could tell me stories about his life without leaving essential details out. It almost felt like I was getting to know another man entirely, but the man I married was still there too; the mechanic and the family-father didn't disappear through the stories of demons and spirits and a messed up childhood spent in motel rooms across the country, raising his younger brother practically on his own. I finally understood why Sam had told Jo she could never hunt. Probably good I overheard that, since I doubt Jo can recall that one-sided conversation very well.

Sam arrived around lunch-time on a Friday. Dean had taken the day off work to get a long weekend. Unlike the last time Sam had stood at our threshold looking like he was about to collapse, Dean did not react calmly. He hugged his brother fiercely, all the while telling him what an idiot he was and was he trying to kill himself and had he looked in a mirror lately, he looked like a walking skeleton.

"Please Dean," Sam interrupted softly after a minute. "Can we… go inside at least?"

He really did look awful. Pale, thin, and clammy with dark circles under his eyes, and generally unkempt. But then again, I had never seen him looking like the paragon of health.

"Yeah, lets get some food in you!" Dean agreed and all but manhandled his brother into the kitchen and into a chair.

"It's good to see you Emily," Sam smiled politely at me. We had never spent enough time together to quite get past that slightly awkward initial getting-to-know-you phase, but this time I stepped forward and gave my brother-in-law a hug which seemed to surprise but please him at the same time.

I also put Jo on his lap as I put out some lunch for us and this seemed to please him even more. I found myself lamenting the fact that this sweet man would never have children of his own before I caught myself - there was nothing saying he was about to die except the speculation of a lone angel. Only a few months ago this would probably have convinced me fine - hello; angel! - but Dean had told me some about angels and… well, I sort of felt like a blasphemer when I went to church now, with the thoughts that circled in my head. And I'm pretty sure Dean left more than a few things out.

Dean took the baby away when the food was on the table (to Sam's great disappointment) and ordered him to eat.

Sam had two bites of a sandwich, swallowing like it was painful. He looked like he might throw up.

"I might just have a nap if that's okay, I drove a long way," Sam said, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Yeah," Dean said quietly. "The bed in the guest room is made up for you."

"Thanks."

Sam stumbled a bit getting to his feet, but put a steady hand on Dean's shoulder as he passed, and Dean looked after him in despair as he left the room.

…

An hour passed and then two more. Eventually Dean went to wake his brother for dinner but found him feverish and barely coherent, so he let him sleep.

I had made 'rabbit-food' as Dean called it, because apparently that was the kind of stuff Sam liked, and Dean picked listlessly at his salad.

"He had to go back to hell," he said all of a sudden.

"Beg your pardon?" I choked on my lettuce.

"The second trial was to rescue an innocent soul from hell. So he had to go there, through purgatory, find an innocent soul to take with him and bribe a reaper to get them back out of purgatory again. He says the second trial hit him a lot harder than the first."

"Do you think… Castiel is right? About the trials and Sam?"

"I don't know. I'm not really willing to take the risk though. But Sam is one stubborn little bitch."

We went to bed early.

…

Dean slept more restlessly than Jo that night, getting up whenever she did (or didn't) whimper to pace around with her and periodically go into the guest room to check that Sam was still breathing.

At ten the following morning Sam stumbled into the kitchen wearing the same clothes he had arrived in and looking… monumentally hung over. It would have been funny, except it wasn't.

"Good morning," Dean greeted him.

"Morning?"

"It's 10am on Saturday," he informed him.

"I, ah… shit. I'm sorry," Sam fumbled, running a hand through his birds' nest of hair. "I'll… uh… take a shower then."

He turned and walked right back out again.

"If you slip and crack your head open I'll kick your ass!" Dean called after him.

"Okay," Sam called back.

…

It's not until hours later that Dean brings up the obvious topic. We were sitting in the living room blatantly not talking about it.

"You need to stop, Sam," Dean said, maybe not so out of the blue.

"You know I can't," Sam replied patiently, sending a glance my way. I'm sure he knows that I know but apparently he isn't sure how much.

"You're getting yourself killed."

"That's just what Cas thinks. He really doesn't know more than you or I, Dean. Kevin hasn't deciphered anything about sacrificing yourself to complete the trials."

"And you trust Kevin more than Cas?" Dean asked incredulously. He had mentioned a Kevin. Somehow I had expected prophets of the Lord to have more imposing names than 'Kevin' or 'Chuck' but who am I to judge?

"No I…" Sam ran a hand through his hair again in exasperation, "I have to do this, Dean, I have to. Closing the Gates of Hell, I mean, come on!"

"Not if it kills you Sam. You know where you're gonna end up."

"Not if it works," Sam countered quietly, and the brothers shared a tense look.

It was a long shot.

…

My family came for dinner again that day, because they're nosy and because we hadn't exactly expected Sam to be so ill he was practically incoherent some of the time.

As it turned out, Sam and Dean mostly had their own hushed conversation at one end of the table while I loudly talked to Lily about her graduate studies to allow them their privacy. It was rude but completely excusable.

We were ingesting the ill-advised though obligatory post-dinner cup of coffee when Sam's phone rang. He fumbled a second with the phone, seemed to consider getting up, but decided against the effort, and answered.

"Kevin?… You did?… Shit that's… how do you do that?… Really?… Yeah, okay?… No Crowley should do… Sure. Thanks man!" he hung up.

"I have to go," he then announced to the room at large and struggled to stand up. Dean reared up immediately.

"Are you out of your fucking mind Sammy? You can barely stand up straight!" he addressed the elephant in the room which my family had, with unusual tact, avoided all evening.

"And this will fix that problem Dean."

"Stop acting like a child! You clearly have no idea what you're doing. You're getting yourself killed here and I'm not having it!"

Dean grabbed Sam by the arm and marched off to the guest room. He reappeared not ten tense minutes later, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face.

"He fell asleep."

"Is he sick? Will he be alright?" Lily asked quickly, beating at least my mother to the question.

"He's…" Whatever Dean was about to say was cut off by the rumble of the Impala and Dean sprung to his feet once again, running to the front door and throwing it open just as the sound of the ancient engine died away.

"Fuck!" he yelled, slamming the door so hard I thought it might crack, and waking Jo in the process. Dean didn't even seem to notice.

My family was looking on in horrified fascination. Except for Mark that one time at the bar in November more than two years ago, none of them had ever seen Dean act anything but collected and self-assured. I hardly had either in all honesty. But now he looked about to tear his hair out as he dialled his phone only to throw it across the room and watch it shatter against the wall when there was no answer.

"Fuck," he repeated weakly, sinking to the floor by the door, and leaning his head against the wall.


	7. Chapter 7

Two days passed. Dean called in sick to work and refused any nourishment save coffee, beer and Jack Daniels. He kept calling Sam's number every few minutes but there was never an answer. Sam had always, without fail, picked up before, or at least called back within the hour. Dean even called Castiel, both the conventional and the less conventional way. No luck.

My parents suggested filing a missing person's report and Dean had to use every last strand of his very frayed patience not to tell them to shut the fuck up and fuck off. He knew they meant well, but it was pretty obvious those were his general sentiments. Mark and Lily took to spending their free time at our place. Lily helped me around the house, but mostly I think she just wanted to stay updated. Mark was there as some sort of ultimately extremely useless emotional support. Dean wasn't really one to seek such things, I had learned. He was more the suffer-in-silence type. Or sometimes the suffer-with-loud-expletives type.

Then, the evening of the second day, Dean called Sam for the three hundred and fifty-ninth time that day and Sam picked up.

"Sammy," Dean breathed in relief, but it quickly turned to horror. "What?… No! Listen to me Sam!… What? How can you say that?… Don't you ever say that! Don't you dare! Don't you ever think that there's anything in this world I'd ever put in front of you!"

That should have stung to hear - if not on my behalf, then on Jo's - and it did, but not nearly as much as I expected. I realised I had known that all along, since before we got married and I'd never even met Sam Winchester. It was no surprise.

"Please, you have to stop Sammy!… You have to try! Try for me Sam, come on…. Just let it go! Just… no! Sam! Sammy!"

Dean moved the phone from his ear and stared at it in incomprehension, then he looked at me and the despair in his eyes was so deep it made me feel sick.

"Castiel!" he bellowed at the ceiling, and part of me registered that my siblings were most likely convinced my husband was a clear-cut nut-case.

The angel appeared before Dean had the chance to start yelling again. I didn't hear the accompanying flutter of wings over the rush of blood in my ears but I did hear Lily's scream and Mark's shouted curse. They didn't get any of the explanation I had been granted; Castiel's focus was on Dean.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been calling for days!"

"Dean-"

"You have to help him Cas!" Dean interrupted, invading the angel's personal space and grabbing onto the lapels of his miraculously still-clean trench-coat. "You have to stop him, or take me to him so I can help him stop. It's killing him."

"Dean…" the angel hesitated, and it seemed as though the emotion was unfamiliar on his face. "I'm not going to stop him."

"Why the hell not? Hasn't he done enough?" Dean was more or less shouting, teetering between rage and desperation.

"The trials… they've never been undertaken before and it is unlikely they will ever be undertaken again. Closing the Gates of Hell would be a very good thing for the world and humanity. I cannot put the life of one man ahead of the good of humanity even though I care for your brother. I cannot do that, Dean, he has to finish." Castiel's voice held more inflection than I had heard from him before. He truly wanted Dean to understand.

"Don't give me that bullshit! You've done it before, gone against the orders of heaven, Cas, please. It's the last thing I will ever ask of you, please!"

Dean was acting so out of character I was starting to fear that whatever was happening now would kill _him_. I hadn't believed until this minute that Sam was truly going to die since Dean had been so dismissive about it, reassuring me that they would find a way to get Sam out of it, that they always did. Only the terms of Sam's torture were such that Dean had been prohibited from actually helping him…

"I am sorry Dean," Castiel said seriously.

Dean punched him in the face, putting all his force behind it. The angel didn't flinch, and Dean shook his hand out painfully. Dean looked about to unleash a whole heap of verbal abuse when there was a low grumble that seemed to emanate from the depths of the earth. It felt like an earthquake, and an intensification of the gravitational field. Almost like everything was being sucked down towards the earth. I might have imagined it, but I swear I heard high-pitched screaming of agony, like a ringing that filled my brain. Then it was over. It can't have lasted more than thirty seconds.

"It is done," Cas announced, and Dean looked at him with empty eyes. "I will retrieve Sam now. You may still have time to say goodbye."

Castiel disappeared. Dean didn't move. I didn't move. Nobody moved. Castiel reappeared, supporting a limp Sam. Dean moved like lightning to his side, helping the angel lower his brother to the floor, and supported the younger man against his chest, running his hands through the long greasy hair, keeping up a litany of "Sam, Sam, Sam."

Sam's breathing was laboured and shallow, his skin more grey than anything else, but he leaned into Dean's touch like a flower seeking the sun.

"Don't do this to me again Sammy, please!" Again?

It was the first time I saw Dean cry, Sam's face firmly between his hands, as though he could force his brother to wake up through sheer force of will. Maybe he could.

"D'n?" it was the barest of whispers.

"Come on Sammy, open your eyes for me. I've got you, you'll be alright. We'll fix this, huh? Like we always do?"

Hazel eyes opened with a monumental effort.

"No. But s'okay," Sam forced out, a small stream of blood trickling down his chin as he tried to give a reassuring smile.

"Sammy!"

"S'okay Dean. 'Cause there's only heaven now. I'll be there when you're ready."

 **A/N: This was the final chapter. Thank you all for reading. I hope you enjoyed and I would love to hear your final thoughts. :) I know it's a bit cruel to leave it like this; I've started writing an epilogue, but it took a really (and I mean really) weird turn, and I may or may not post it, or I may or may not try to write another one. We will see.**


End file.
